The Lonely Lawman and His Belle

by Lilly Inman

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Dear Reader

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  The Lonely Lawman and his Belle

  A Western historical romance

  Lilly Inman

  Copyright © Lilly Inman 2020

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical or photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover design by Rebeca-Ira P.

  Typset by The PotHole Press, Hamilton, Scotland.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or places is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  “Miss Williams? Please follow me to the Sheriff’s office.”

  Isabelle turned around sharply. Smoke was billowing out of the locomotive engine and the platform was still crowded with travellers, but the young man approached determinedly.

  “Miss Williams, welcome to Close Ridge. Now please follow me.”

  Isabelle examined the young man suspiciously. Was this… him? Mr. Cartwright? He didn’t look at all like the tall, strong man she’d imagined. This man was tall, certainly, but lanky and thin. No smile. Kind brown eyes. His long arm reached out to lift her suitcase and he motioned towards the end of the platform. Through the dust Isabelle could make out the silhouettes of a small town.

  “The Sheriff is waiting for you, Miss Williams.” There was an impatient edge to his voice.

  “But I’ve done nothing wrong!” She jerked her luggage from his hand and looked hurriedly round the platform, scanning faces for someone she’d hoped she might recognise. The bustling travellers had dispersed and there was almost no-one left. A lock of her long brown hair had come loose and she tucked it behind her ear nervously. A creeping doubt came over her. Was this really Mr. Cartwright? What if he’d changed his mind? Or worse — seen her and made a run for it? Isabelle cleared her throat. “I’m… supposed to meet someone.”

  “Yes, and I’m here to collect you, Miss Williams. But the Sheriff wants to speak with you. Hurry, now. He is not the person to be kept waiting.” The young man coaxed the baggage from her hand with a shy smile and began to move off towards the end of the platform. Isabelle stood rooted to the spot, glaring at him. What a welcome.

  “Miss Williams!” The man called over his shoulder, not turning around. With a great sigh, she made off after him.

  So this man was to be her husband.

  He’d reached the horses and carts tied up at the end of the platform and slung her suitcase on the back of one of the carts, offering his hand to help Isabelle up to the seat. She ignored it and clambered up laboriously. The man followed her up and shuffled in next to her, taking the reins. The horse moved off slowly towards the small town.

  Isabelle stifled a yawn. The train journey had been long and cramped. She stretched her legs, re-arranging her skirts, and felt the young man’s lingering gaze on her. The air was thicker here, hot and heavy, and the horse kicked up the dust on the road. She couldn’t breathe. Was it nerves? Her father’s words echoed in her head. It’ll be good for you, Belle. Just give it a try.

  Isabelle swallowed hard. If this was the man she was to marry, then so be it. She would honour the promise she made to her father. And to Mr. Cartwright. The young man picked at his teeth and Isabelle shivered.

  But what on earth did the Sheriff want with her?

  Chapter Two

  The Sheriff paced around his office deep in thought, his brow furrowed. He paused at the edge of his desk, piled high with documents. Licking his thumb and forefinger, he rifled through some pages. His hand trembled as he reached out.

  BANDITS AMBUSH NEWINGTON TRAIN. Headlines and portraits from the local press swam under his gaze. WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE.

  He sighed. They’d struck again. How many dead this time? Joseph felt his chest tighten with stress. The Marshall wanted this case wrapped up before the end of the year or he’d elect someone else as Sheriff. Joe glanced out the window—the autumn winds were already starting to pick up.

  Outside, horses rode slowly up and down the wide street. His heart leapt in his chest every time one drew near. He glanced up at the clock on the wall.

  Two-thirty.

  What was taking them so long? Newington was just a couple of miles away. Had she been on that train?

  One hand rubbing the stubble on his chin, he cursed himself for not shaving this morning. What would she think of him? He looked himself over and studied his clothes. White shirt, slightly crumpled and rolled up at the sleeves, black waistcoat and plain dark jeans. At least his boots were shining. The Old Man sure drilled that into him. He adjusted the Sheriff badge on his waistcoat and brushed some dust off the base of his jeans.

  What would she look like?

  With a sigh, he returned to his desk and picked up the first document from the pile. No time for daydreaming. Back to work, Sheriff.

  *

  Isabelle’s heartbeat accelerated as the horse slowed, pulling them up the main street of Close Ridge. She blew her long brown hair from her face and shielded her eyes from the sun with her bonnet. She had to get a better look. This town was like no place she’d ever been. It was so… quiet. So different from Philadelphia.

  A pang of emotion filled her chest as she thought of her home. She missed the busy people everywhere, talking, laughing, boots clicking on the cobbled streets… Here there was nothing but a dirt road and, in some places, wooden boards lined the sidewalk. No more grand buildings, no more lovely parks… There were some people here sure enough, and the men raised their hats to the cart as they passed. Maybe they would be kinder here than in Philadelphia. Maybe she wouldn’t always feel like an outsider.

  She missed her father and her little sister and brother. She wondered if she’d ever see them again. After long days in the train with nothing but flat, empty landscape to gaze at from the window, it dawned on her how far away she really was. She hoped she hadn’t made a mistake.

  It had been her father’s idea. She heard his words echoing in her head. What was wrong with him this time, eh, Belle? …The girl can’t find a young man she likes!… …You won’t keep your dear father worrying about you forever, will you?

  A smile began to grow on Isabelle’s face as she remembered, but faded just as quickly. His light-hearted joking had turned serious, and after many of Isabelle’s failed courtship attempts, he knocked on her bedroom door one morning with a copy of the Matrimonial Herald tucked under his arm and a very stern look on his face.

  “Miss Williams…” The young man beside Isabelle cleared his throat, jerking her from her memories. “We will be arriving shortly.” The horse slowed. The man smiled tentatively a
t her. She returned his smile with a scowl.

  “I absolutely do not see what we’re doing here.” Isabelle lost her patience. “I thought you were to take me directly to your house. Can’t you imagine how exhausted I must be?” Her cheeks were flushed with anger as she swirled around on the bench to face him. The horse shuffled nervously, as did the young man next to her.

  “I — I’m sorry, miss, I —” he stuttered.

  Isabelle looked away, feeling guilty for her outburst. Keep calm, Belle.

  “Well, where is it then?” she sighed. “The Sheriff’s office?” Better get this over with. She looked around, exasperated.

  “It’s just on the next corner. Please, allow me.” The young man slid lithely down from the cart and rushed around to Isabelle’s side, offering his hand. She took it begrudgingly and climbed down from the cart onto the dusty road.

  The Sheriff’s office, a wooden building with a small deck, carbon copy of the other buildings on the street, was just ahead. Isabelle felt her feet grow heavier with each step. Something just wasn’t right. Frustration boiled up in her chest once more.

  “No, this isn’t fair!” she burst out. “I have done absolutely nothing wrong.” She stopped, one foot on the deck stairs, and gestured wildly. “What kind of welcome is this? What a nerve you have, Mr. Cartwright, taking the woman you’re supposed to marry straight to the Sheriff, like she’s some hardened criminal!”

  The young man flushed red in embarrassment and opened his mouth to explain, but Isabelle was too angry to let him speak.

  “I simply cannot believe that I am being treated this way by the man I am to marry!”

  A deep voice interrupted her from the doorstep.

  “No, Miss Williams. You are to be married to me.”

  Chapter Three

  The young woman's chest was rising and falling rapidly as she inched around to face him. Her cheeks were flushed and her light brown eyes blazed in the sunlight. Her beauty was so striking that the Sheriff felt a little unsteady on his feet.

  “Joseph Cartwright. Pleased to meet you.” He came to his senses and held out his hand. “I’m the Sheriff around here.”

  Isabelle approached him, hesitating, and shook his hand. For an instant, a shy smile flashed over Joseph’s face, before he turned swiftly and entered his office. He paused, calling over his shoulder, “Please do come in. This shall only take a moment.”

  The Sheriff headed towards his desk with long elegant strides, and Isabelle followed him inside. She seemed glad to be out of the afternoon sun. Joseph examined her out of the corner of his eye as she removed her bonnet and a lock of hair escaped, falling over her face. She tucked it behind her ear and sat quietly on the chair opposite the Sheriff. She must be nervous. Her quick, furtive movements reminded Joseph of a criminal and he smiled to himself, amused at the thought.

  Joseph brushed some of the documents to the side of his desk and clasped his hands together on the empty space in front of him, business-like.

  “So. Welcome to Close Ridge, Miss Williams. I hope you had a pleasant journey. Do not worry, this meeting will not take up much of your time. I expect you will want to rest…?” His voice turned up at the end of the last sentence, like a question.

  Isabelle didn’t utter a word, simply gazing up at him through her long eyelashes.

  The Sheriff studied her kindly and nodded. She must be exhausted. “My cousin here, Matthew, will take you to the house, and my old man will be there to welcome you. Take your time to get settled in. You should start on the housework tomorrow.” He caught a mortified look from Matthew. Did he overstep the mark?

  His gaze turned back to the documents on his desk and his brow furrowed. “No need to get started right away. I shall not be home for dinner tonight, in any case.” He shuffled some papers, his face suddenly crisp. “Please make yourself comfortable and let the old man know if you need anything. Good day, Miss Williams.”

  Chapter Four

  The house was a short ride from the main street and the Sheriff’s office. As the track swung round, the elegant building came into view. It was a large house, painted white, perched up on a small hill. Not built recently, but well taken care of. That would be Isabelle’s new role, she guessed.

  She sighed heavily as her eyes wandered over the house. Although the Sheriff had clearly stated in his advertisement the kind of wife he was looking for, Isabelle hadn’t expected him to be quite so… business-like. She knew she would be expected to take over the cooking and cleaning while also caring for the old man, but she had to admit that she was also secretly hoping for a loving partner. Was she wrong to have wished for such a thing?

  Isabelle’s belly churned with a mixture of emotions. She felt guilty about getting so angry towards the Sheriff’s poor cousin. She was tired after her long journey, and missing her family. Nervous about the future. And ashamed that Joseph had witnessed her irritability.

  But there was one thing that had pleasantly surprised her. His smiling eyes, watching her from the doorway, amused. The way his cheek dimpled. The pull she felt towards him.

  Matthew cleared his throat and Isabelle jumped back to the present moment. The horse had stopped and Matthew had already collected her suitcase from the back of the cart. Isabelle pushed her concerns to the back of her mind and accepted Matthew’s waiting hand to climb down from the cart.

  “Welcome to your new home, Miss Williams.”

  She smiled at him shyly, still feeling guilty about her earlier outburst. She bit her lip.

  “Thank you, Mr. Cartwright — uhh, Matthew.” She blushed, remembering her mistake outside the Sheriff’s office. How could she have mistaken him for her future husband? He smiled, a little warily, and picked up her suitcase, heading towards the steps in front of the house. She grabbed his arm. “Matthew! Hold on a minute. I… I should apologise.” She swallowed. Matthew waited. “About earlier. My outburst.” Why was it always so hard to admit she was wrong? “I’m sorry.”

  “No problem, Miss,” he said politely.

  Isabelle wondered if he wasn’t a little afraid of her. No wonder, she thought to herself. She’d have to keep herself in check, next time.

  Matthew led her up the steps and onto the porch of the great house. She turned around and took in the view. Such a flat landscape, Close Ridge. No ridges in sight. There were a few houses sprinkled nearby, and she could make out the outline of the town not much further to the west. The rest was just open grasslands and blue skies, stretching on for miles all around. It was not like Philadelphia, but it was beautiful.

  “Well, hello there, young Miss!” A jovial old voice rung out from the house. “Do come in out of that blasting sunshine! Welcome to our home!” The man had a crackly voice and a Scottish accent. He stood, leaning on his cane, one arm held out wide to envelop Isabelle in a great big hug. He was tiny, only reaching Isabelle’s shoulder, and frail-looking. As she leaned down to embrace him, she was afraid he might break. His tufty white hair tickled her cheek.

  “What a pleasure it is to finally meet you, dear! I am sure you will feel right at home here. I trust my Joe wasn’t too rude to you? Works too much, that boy. I’m always telling him he needs to cut back, but he never listens to an old man like me!”

  His warm smile was as wide as his face. Isabelle grinned back.

  “Right! Let’s get you settled in, then.” He moved slowly back into the house, leaning heavily on his cane. “Here we are in the sitting room, there are a few more rooms on this side of the house, and through there at the back are the pantry and the kitchen.”

  The old man shuffled along, continuing the tour, and then paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Would you mind, dear?” He took her arm like an old friend and they went upstairs together.

  “On your left there is my bedroom, followed by Joe’s office. Try not to go in when the door is closed, dear, he doesn’t like to be interrupted.” The old man rolled his eyes. “Next, we have Joe’s bedroom. Yours too if you’ll take it, when the time is
right,” he added quietly, watching her carefully. Isabelle flushed and didn’t dare to look inside the room. “And then on your right there is the room we have set up for you now.” He beamed.

  It was by far the biggest and nicest room in the house. The late-afternoon sunlight shone in from two large windows, illuminating the walls and radiating warmth from the wooden floor. There were a few items of furniture around the room; a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, a desk, a nightstand to the side of the enormous bed with a washbasin of water placed on it. Steam rose delicately from the surface and Isabelle wondered how the old man had navigated the stairs with the heavy bowl of hot water.

  “Oh, thank you!” Isabelle exclaimed, her heart pounding. “What a lovely room! I am sure I shall be quite at home, here. Thank you, Mr…”

  “Please, call me Jim. Or the Old Man, as the boy always does,” he said, gesturing with a nod of his head to Joseph’s bedroom. “I’ll leave you to get settled in a wee bit. When you’re ready, come downstairs and join me for a coffee. Keep the old man company, eh?” He winked at her and shuffled away.

  Isabelle entered her room and sat quietly on the edge of the bed, running her hands along the soft blankets. She stifled a yawn and longed to climb in between the sheets, but she knew better than to keep the old man waiting. Isabelle’s stomach rumbled. From her spot on the bed she could gaze out the window, making out the small town in the distance, and she thought of Joseph. He hadn’t written much in his letters about his job. How much time did he really spend working in the office? She felt a little sad that he wouldn’t return to share a meal with them.

  Tiredness was creeping up on her and she sprung from the bed and picked up a small handheld mirror from the nightstand. Her face looked drawn, and her cheeks were still rosy from the heat — or her emotion, she didn’t know which. She dipped her hands in the water and gently rubbed her face, massaging her forehead and temples. Then she took a deep breath, stood up, smoothed down her dress, and went downstairs.